


The Pianist

by UNORIGINALCONTENT



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-07-27 02:48:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7600489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UNORIGINALCONTENT/pseuds/UNORIGINALCONTENT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John is a pianist and Dave can't help but fall madly in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of Something Really Excellent

     John was a pianist. He played songs and sonatas for many occasions, both in it for the money and for the feeling.    


     Dave was a college student living out of a hotel, a fancy one, in downtown Washington, a city or two away from Spokane.  
     Both boys had one thing in common. They did not know each other. Name or otherwise. They were foreigners to one another and complete strangers.  
     Life was lived in incredibly different ways from both perspectives.  
     One boy came from a loving home with a father who showed every ounce of love and caring to his son. He'd make him treats and leave him notes, he was the boy's only family  
and he was happy.  
     Though, one's story was so prime and pleasant, the other's was meeting the opposite. He was brought up in a harsh home without a father or a mother in his life. Instead, he had a brother, or a sorry excuse for one at least.  
     Even being so drastically different in upbringing, the boy's had yet to learn how much they genuinely shared as common.  
     This is **the beginning of something really excellent** , something unforgettable, and something amazing.


	2. Beatdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn how Dave was raised.

     Dave had gotten to Washington through a series of events all known to be incredibly horrible and emotional. He was raised by a man who he knew so little about even after fifteen years. He didn't even know the guy's real name.

    Life wasn't a box of chocolates for Dave while stuck in the apartment, each day a new obstacle that seemed near impossible to fave and his only goal was to make it through the day alive. Now, it may sound poetic, like a story of a bullied boy "surviving" school. No. This was literal. He would wake up and, if able, open his closet and rummage for food. Usual nonperishables, but also things he doesn't have to heat up, keep cool, or cook. This meant his diet was jerky, chips, sodas, waters, sweets, and such. Never real food. After "breakfast"- when he had it- he would get dressed and grab whatever weapon lie closest before leaving his room. The moment he stepped out, he was set into danger. His brother would leave posters and such lying around, each having some mentally scarring thing on them. That was the best out of the things that happened.      

     Sometimes, puppets would be placed with blood capsules and such in areas that would cause destruction, cameras watching everything that happened, making the boy a sad, non consenting star of some soft core porn. When it wasn't cameras, puppets, or posters, it was notes, sex toys, and fighting. The notes would be mock offs of the movie Saw, little "wanna play a game" and such, scrawled by his brother. Or sometimes the chilling "roof now" ones.  

     The sex toys were his brother's franchise, puppets that you could fuck or could fuck you, things he disliked seeing around. Disgusting. And somewhat unnerving. Fighting was a big part of Dave's life. So was bleeding. And being **beat down** repeatedly. He would find little notes tacked to the wall with daggers and knives, reading things along the lines of: "Roof. Now. Bring Cal."- Cal we can talk about in a different paragraph to avoid clogging the next few.

     Now, living on the top floor of a shitty apartment with no AC in the center of Texas was bad. But the roof, close to the sun and following the heat rises rule, could be worse. That would be the worst if he wasn't forced to sword fight his thirty something year old brother on it near daily. He never won. His prizes were gashes, stitches, scars, blood, and the emotional toll. He'd spend an hour being beaten until bloody, before retreating to fix his injuries.

    Onto Cal. Cal was his brother's puppet. A creepy looking thing with wide blue eyes, it was always in his line of sight, no matter what. He would see it, look over, just as his brother moved it away. It was horrible. Feeling watched. Feeling under eyes. It was horrible.

     It was at thirteen when he began the self harming habits, burning himself, opening cuts from fights, adding new ones. Only two years later he pulled an attempt at his life. It failed. He lived. And he got help. CPS got involved and ripped his brother from the photo, therapists and medication got him on track to get an education and grow past his PTSD and control his depression and paranoia. Things got better. Good enough that he had began to major in Film and start minoring in Business. At nineteen he had moved to Spokane, Washington, finding that paying to live in a hotel was much easier than renting an apartment or dorm. He worked something out with the owner, making it so he payed a rent, but also worked for in hotel's staff, doing whatever was needed when out of school and such.

     Dave was free and finally living in a nice, fancy hotel.


	3. Heir of Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn how John was raised.

     John was born in Washington, raised in a suburban neighborhood with only a father. Things were nice, as much as he used to complain, he had a loving dad and everything he really wanted.  
When he was little, John's dad taught him how to play the piano. Simple things like Mary Had a Little Lamb, Hot Cross Buns, and other basics that everyone knows. 

     Though, as time went on, John grew to know a lot. He wrote his own music, he played sonnets by Beethoven, he was spending time on his piano.

His father taught him other things, like baking, a hobby he managed to never take up, even with a fanatic like his own dad. It was rare to go without something in the oven or set out to eat, but he adjusted. 

     As a teen, John was incredibly interested in coding, though, admittedly horrible at it. He could do virtually nothing, but it didn't stop him. Even after years, he still didn't get very far, but he couldn't bother. 

     It was when John was sixteen that his dad had passed away, a car accident taking his life. It took a toll and a depressed, he became the heir to his own grief.  
   

    Seventeen year old John spent more time than ever locked away with a piano. He'd set pictures of him and his dad in frames over the piano, notes that he found after the man's death beside them or in them. He had lost his only family and it burned. But time moved on.  
 

   During the two years of mourning, John wrote multiple songs in remembrance to his late family member, staying awake for hours as he scrawled notes on music sheets, pouring every horrible feeling into each song.  
He was eighteen when he was noticed for his talents and offered a job as the pianist for a quite fancy hotel in Spokane, a town not far from his own.  

     The new offer seemed perfect to help pull him from the misery of grieving his dad, giving him a place to do what he loves while earning money.


	4. Candles and Clockwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dave admires the beautiful song and the man who plays it.

     Dave enjoyed the hotel within the first week. It was life spent much better than he had ever lived. He would serve as a busboy, waiter, janitor, sometimes as a cashier, as well, earning money and using his services as part of rent.

     Life was nice on those first days, he had spent the days unpacking, eating, walking around the local area, and going to classes. It was rare to get back in time for the dinners, he usually was around for breakfasts as he had evening classes.

     Sometimes, though, when he was lucky, he's get out of his lectures early or just not go, catching the music that drifted from the dining areas and such around there. He had never bothered with classical music, piano or symphony, but someone was playing and it was genuinely beautiful. He could identify simple things like Bach and Beethoven, but others went over his head.

     Rarely, but every now and then, he'd take a seat in the grand hall, listening to the piano and watching the pianist, admiring his looks and his music alike. With certain songs he'd gain emotion, face contort with sadness or energy, those where during the songs he did not know.  
  
     He didn't know the piano player's name, nor anything else, yet he spent as much time as possible listening. Admiring.

     Usually, the tables were draped in white cloth with a single candle in the center, illuminating the faces of those seated. Everyone talked amongst their groups in the restaurant area of the hotel, which was open to the public as well. It was a soft chatter while the musicians would play, usually that pianist Dave had come to fancy.

     Lights on the little side stage and candles around set a warm yellow glow, a comfortable feeling, a welcoming one. Everything was perfect. It all moved like clockwork. Each moment timed so wonderfully. **With candles and like clockwork.**


	5. Portrait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they fall in love, slowly, but they do.

     It was two months ago that Dave started living at this fancy hotel, Albergo, enjoying is complete rental of room 182b on the very top floor, the one with much less people. His month living there was nice, too, it wasn't like the jobs he had were hard or anything, and the food and such was wonderful. He liked it. More than he could ever have liked his old home.

     Some people had questions as to why Dave didn't just dorm on campus like other's. Well let's see: Hotel means he works and pays half rent, sometimes with free meals. Dorm means paying even more for both education and living, plus food and other living expenses.

     Though, none of this matters for what we are discussing. Within a month he had grown to love the pianists music, to really love all the ways it sounded and how it carried emotions strong and he could almost feel at ease with it. The boy who played was beautiful, as well, which just made everything feel so much better. At times, he would lean on the walls, listening with closed eyes, comforted and put at ease with each keystroke. Only once or twice had he nearly fallen asleep, but those were after long days at class or work, so he had more than one reason.

     Now, even after two months and a few days of life there, he had been too uncomfortably nervous to really approach. He sometimes would think about how he could impress the boy, with fancy talk or other interests.

  
     John never noticed to boy who cleaned and served, well never as more than the job he had taken up that day. If the blond boy was a janitor, he was The Janitor, it was just so much more simple that way. He was always bad with names, anyway, so it's not like he had taken time to learn his name, only to forget it and feel like utter shit for not knowing it when they spoke next. That, and he had never actually had a conversation about the guy. He hardly notices him.

     It didn't mean that when he did talk, whether it be to order food or pay, he couldn't help but be interested.

     Time moved on and he started to talk to Dave more, conversations about life and interests and all sorts of things. He learned that Dave majored in film and had made a few short movies that were sent straight to the internet. He learned that Dave had a life much harder than his own and gave his sympathy.

     Over the span of a year, John and Dave  grew close, best friends. They talked whenever possible, Dave listened to him play, they sometimes went out together. They were friends.

     It was around late September when Dave felt his heart skip a beat whenever John touched him, when he felt warm every time they talked. When he fell in love.

     For John, it was mid October. His hands  would get shaky whenever Dave got close, his heart would hammer almost audibly beating whenever they touched. He, too, fell in love. The perfect **portrait** of requited love.


	6. 3 in the morning (RJ's I Can Barely Sleep in This Casino Remix)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John and Dave come to terms with feelings at very early hours.

     Dave and John had been friends for months now, both of them were close, were friends, were all the other had. Dave had grown to strongly feel a certain way for his new and only friend. John had felt the same for some time now. 

     This feeling, this love and longing, went without recognitionm they never shared these facts with one another, things were all the same but they should have been different.

     

     It was two forty in the morning and John was seated in the dark grand room, eyes resting on the keys of the piano he knew so well, his head empty, mind blank, body aching. He let a dark skinned hand glide over the keys, never pressing, keeping them quiet to think. 

     He thought for a while, he thought about Dave, about his father, about his life, about the way he lived, and about a life he did not live. His eyes closed briefly in this moment, a soft breath drawn in, a moment- a second- of pure silence before the melody hit and his hands danced. Music came soft, a tune that seemed like home and felt like it, too. A melody that hits you and makes you miss something, makes you grieve a loss, but one you do not know, and he played it soft and easy. 

     John didn't know if he played it for Dave or his dad or his home or even the him that was lost years ago that he longed to have back, that childish innocence that we all long for to return to us. He played for all of them, maybe, or possibly he played for none of them. 

 

     Dave could not rest, just like his friend, but he did not do very much, just sighing and laying awake in bed. He thought of his brother, of his friend, of his life, of a life that was not his own, and a life he wished was his own. He laid. He sat. He stood. He walked. 

     The pale skinned boy walked silently down the halls of the dark hotel, doors shut, some locked, some holding families or people on jobs, but he did not think of them. He thought of John. He thought of his brother. He thought of himself. Within minutes, Dave was in the elevator, heading for a walk through the hotel, the halls, the grand rooms, all of the parts.   
  
     Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. He watched the numbers of the floors pass his eyes with a tired gaze, bags under them, weighing him down emotionally. Six. Five. Four. Three. There was no sound but the elevator humming, the ding of each floor passing, it was almost pleasant. Two. One. The doors opened, music flooding in, but it was faint and distant. He knew where it came from. John. 

     He wandered down halls with patterned carpets, wallpaper that seemed tired and old, and the lights dim. Dave walked through empty lobbies, past restaurants, and closer to the sound of the piano. He checked a clock on the wall. Three o' one in the morning. He sighed. 

 

     John played with eyes close, nimble fingers moving across eighty eight keys, that same soft melody filling his head, filling his mind with thoughts and images of his father, then Dave, then he heard it. A tired, rough voice saying his name. His hands stopped, his eyes opened, and slowly turned to see who it was.   
  
     His blue eyes met the silhouette of a familiar form, tousled hair, short stature, and skinny body. He smiled a tired and small smile, waving and sighing, saying his own hello.   
  
     John welcomed Dave to sit next to him, to take a seat so they could just talk. They did talk. They talked about the early morning hours, about not being able to sleep, and eventually, their voices were quieter and they leaned close. Eyes met eyes, hands met hands, fingers intertwining and a silent confirmation of feelings was shared. In moments, slow moments, yet all too fast, lips met lips, soft and warm, chapped and gentle. Finally it ended, the words "I love you" were shared. It all, now, came together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is the end! I wanted to start short so I was sure to finish. Thanks for everyone who read my story and left kudos or didn't. Thank you all.


End file.
